


There May Be No Survivors

by Erisah_Mae



Series: All the King's Horses and All the Kingsmen [1]
Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz, Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: BAMF Alex Rider, BAMF Eggsy, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Gen, Snark, SpyBros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 14:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4184034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erisah_Mae/pseuds/Erisah_Mae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy runs into Alex Rider, and they get on like a house on fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Eggsy runs into Alex Rider, it’s nearly literal.

As it happens, Eggsy is sneaking around a top secret base of a megalomaniac (calling herself Lady Victoria, which had got right up the nose of several of the Kingsmen who were _actual_ nobility, not just some mad bint putting on airs) trying not to tip off the guards as to his presence so that he can give Merlin access to the systems (so in other words, it’s Tuesday) when he ducks around a corner to avoid some clomping military boots (for some reason most megalomaniacs are terrible at kitting out their security with stealthier footwear) and then has to freeze in order to not run head-long into a kid in his late teens in dark-coloured street clothes.

Eggsy has only a split second to wonder what the hell this kid is doing down here when Merlin swears in his ear.

“Damn, it’s Rider. I had no idea MI6 was running an operation in here. Galahad, be extremely careful, and whatever you do, don’t underestimate him.”

Eggsy blinks. This kid was MI6? Right. He aborts his move to pin the kid up against the wall and tranq him with the small dart in his watch (he might be happy to kill for his country, but he does try to avoid killing kids and so far he’s been successful), and then immediately has to dodge the knife hand aimed straight for his windpipe.

“Shit, chill out bruv, I’m not one of the bad guys,” Eggsy hisses as he sidesteps out of range.

‘Rider’ observes him coolly, and Eggsy is distinctly unnerved by seeing an expression he had first seen on Harry Hart’s face on the face of a blonde teenager. It was an assessing look that weighed, measured, and evaluated threat level. Eggsy had the distinct impression that the kid thought that he could take him.

Eggsy wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed, amused or wary in response to that.

All things considered (especially Merlin’s reaction), he thought as the kid jerked his head in the direction of a door a few metres down the corridor, it would probably pay to be wary.

After all, Eggsy knew all about how useful it was to be underestimated.

He followed the kid into the room, unsurprised that Rider kept him within sight at all times.

“Who are you then?” Rider demanded, obviously tensed and ready to react if necessary, eyes darting around to case the room in a way that Eggsy didn’t need Merlin hissing in his ear to tell him that the kid had probably assessed the potential for weapons and escapes in the small office already.

Eggsy was given the distinct impression that if it came to fight or flight, Rider was the type to disable with prejudice and then get the fuck out of dodge.

Even before Harry Hart had dragged him into the spy movie marathon on acid that was Kingsman, Eggsy had been in enough brawls to tell when one was brewing. He had little doubt that if Rider felt cornered, then he would fight like a rabid sewer rat hopped up on flushed crystal meth.

After all, that’s what Eggsy would do.

So he held up both hands placatingly, and talked fast.

“Right, so, I’m Galahad. Well, Eggsy really, but Galahad’s me spy name.”

Over the comms, he thought he heard a sound suspiciously like a hand slapping a face.

“Oi,” he protested to Merlin. “Rider’s in the game too, innee? So I’m not blowing no covers if I tell him what I’m about, and this way we don’t have to faff about. We don’t got no time for that shit, yeah? Weren’t you telling me that you needed this op done yesterday, last week for preference?”

Rider raised an eyebrow. “You have communications?”

“Yeah,” confirmed Eggsy. “Why, you don’t?”

Rider snorted and muttered something under his breath. It didn’t sound complimentary, but on the other hand it didn’t look as though it was particularly pointed at Eggsy so he didn’t take offence. He looked Eggsy up and down. “Well you certainly aren’t MI6, they _usually_ have the courtesy to brief me when I’m going to run into a fellow agent.”

Eggsy caught a note of bitterness in Rider’s voice and filed that away to mull over later.

“Eggsy, tell Rider that Merlin sends his regards to Smithers, and that I know about the fat suit,” Merlin said suddenly in his ear.

Eggsy dutifully repeated the message, and Rider looked taken aback.

He seemed to consider for a moment, and then he relaxed a hair.

Eggsy got the distinct impression that that meant it would maybe take him an extra half-millisecond to get some sort of weapon in his face upon making a false move than it would otherwise.

“What organisation are you with then?” Rider asked him.

Eggsy grinned and straightened his lapels. “I’m a Kingsman now, ain’t I. We’re the ones who get shit done to protect home while your lot are stuck faffing about with the politics and paperwork bullshit,” he said cheekily, ignoring Merlin’s complaints in his ear about Eggsy’s brand of diplomacy or lack thereof.

Eggsy reckoned he’d win the argument later though, because rather than offended, Rider seemed to be somewhere between amused and intrigued.

“So what, you’re freelancers?”

“Not in the sense that we ask for people to pay us, but we do trade favours with other agencies every once in a while. ‘Course, officially and as far as most people in charge are aware, we don’t exist, but the Q network tend to run into each other at conventions and nod’s as good as a wink when you got your favourite agent in the shit and no one wants to start a war.” Eggsy could almost hear the eyeroll from Merlin at his description of him and his compatriots as the “Q Network” but it were true, weren’t it?

Rider raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. “Right then. What’s your mission?”

Eggsy shrugged. “Plug the thingamajig I got into a computer hooked into the main system so that Merlin can hack their data to figure out what these wankers are about. You?”

Rider grimaced. “I’ve _technically_ gone off mission a bit. I was supposed to be tailing an American ex-pat weapons dealer named Lorna Western, but then she dropped by here and I thought that intel about what the hell a secret military base is doing in the middle of the Shetlands might be a _bit_ significant to my handlers.”

Eggsy snorted. “Yeah, these wankers are just your typical doomsday plot by a megalomaniac. Something about releasing some shit into the water supplies. We’re grabbing the database so we can figure out how to warn people to stop it before some poor sod gets poisoned.”

Rider sighed. “I hate doomsday plots by megalomaniacs,” he said a little plaintively. “They tend to get really creative when they try to kill me.”

Eggsy nodded, “I know, right? Least normal mercs and whatnot aren’t going to try and splode your head with fucking fireworks.”

Rider just rolled his eyes. “Try getting locked into a live action simulation of a computer game that’s trying to kill you in real life.”

“What was the game?”

“Feathered Serpent.”

“Oh shit bruv.” Eggsy winced. He remembered seeing the footage of the Gameslayer consoles before they had been suddenly not released when the boss of their company had turned out to be some kind of terrorist nutter. (His friend Jamal had been particularly upset about that- he’d been saving his pennies only to learn that he had been about to inadvertently line the bank account of a straight up murdering arsehole. Bit funny how that seemed to keep happening, celebrities trying to fuck the world to supposedly fix it, what with Valentine coming through a couple of years later. Maybe he and Cray had been part of some fucked up club or something and wow, that was something worth running by Merlin later, because you never knew…) “How’d you get out of that?”

“I cheated,” Rider replied deadpan.

Eggsy grinned at that.

“Fair ‘nough.” He tilted his head. “What say you we work together to get this shit plugged in for Merlin and then we fuck off for a pint?”

Rider, a somewhat odd expression on his face, took a moment to consider, and then shrugged.

“Sure, why not.”

Twenty minutes and four downed goons later, and the two of them were stealing a car.

Well, Eggsy was stealing a car and Rider was playing look-out with a gun he had managed to swipe off one of the goons.

Turned out Rider was a crack shot, which was handy because he had to shoot another three goons who busted in whilst Eggsy jimmied the lock and hotwired the silver sportscar that they’d found parked out the front.

“Get the fuck in, bruv!” he shouted, and Rider ducked into the car and threw his belt on whilst Eggsy threw the car into gear.

“That’s the fastest I’ve ever seen someone steal a car,” said Rider, and he sounded impressed, rather than a bit scornful like some of the other Kingsmen had been. (Apparently it was fine to ask Merlin for a universal key to unlock and run cars with electric locks and ignitions, but it was plebeian to get the same job done with a bit of metal and a leatherman. Sometimes Eggsy really wondered about his colleagues.)

Eggsy just grinned as he burned rubber around a corner.

“You just never lived in the right neighbourhoods bruv.”

As it was, they never did get their pint, because by the time they lost the goons, Merlin told Rider through Eggsy that his mark was about to skip town and Eggsy had to get back to base.

It was a bit disappointing (it sounded like Rider didn’t half have a couple of stories) but Eggsy left Rider with a business card.

“Been nice workin’ with ya. Give us a call if you ever in a shit spot and you need some under the radar help, or you just got time to catch me for that pint, yeah?”

Rider had favoured Eggsy with a genuine smile, and for a second, years dropped off his face and he looked like a kid.

(Eggsy made a mental note to ask Merlin just how old this Rider kid was, because on reflection, Eggsy would eat his brogues if this kid was more than barely legal.)

“I’ll do that.”

Then he got out of the car and left.

When Eggsy later remembered to ask Merlin about Rider aside from a completely unbelievable set of anecdotes about missions that he was dead certain were more than classified, which said a lot about the quality of Merlin’s sources of intel, he learned three things.

The first was that Rider’s first name was Alexander.

The second was that the kid had been press-ganged into MI6 at the age of 14. 

(Eggsy wasn’t sure if he was more shocked that this was even a thing, impressed that Alex was somehow still alive and kicking like nine kinds of arse, or downright furious on the kid’s behalf. Even before they got onto the age thing, forcing someone to do this job when they weren’t into it was straight up not right.)

The third thing was that if he ever met this Blunt cunt, then he was going to seriously fuck him up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy and Alex meet again at a Gala.

The second time Eggsy ran into Rider, it was at a fancy gala thing he was infiltrating.

Eggsy had pointed out that even with the very nice suit he would almost certainly stick out at such a thing, and weren’t spies supposed to be subtle or some shit, but Merlin had just told him he needed the practice and then before Eggsy knew it, he was wandering around the edge of a dance floor with a glass of champagne in one hand.

(He wasn’t drinking the champagne for two reasons. One, it would be bloody stupid to drink on the job and get too drunk to react to shit and think on his feet properly. Two, last time he had tried champagne he’d got bubbles up his nose and drawn way too much attention to himself by having a sneezing spit-take thing that had made Roxy nearly expose her hidden position nearby by nearly dying laughing at him. That last was quite literal, since if spotted she would have been shot on sight.)

He sort of wished that Roxy was on this mission instead of him, but apparently she was needed for “something delicate in Morocco”, whatever _that_ was supposed to mean, so here he was, stuck in this poncy French chapeau in a crowd of businessmen, some of whom were talking about selling some rather illicit things, including people kidnapped to be sold as slaves.

Eggsy took a rather dim view of this, and he was practically itching for Merlin to let him loose on these people.

So far though Merlin was insisting that he watch and wait. Reconnaissance only.

Apparently this mission was intel gathering only, wetwork pending further investigation.

Eggsy sighed into his champagne glass as he pretended to take a sip.

Recon missions were the _worst._

“Champagne, sir?” a waiter asked him.

Eggsy opened his mouth to point out that his current glass was practically untouched, and then did a doubletake when he realised that the person with the tray of glasses was none other than Rider.

“Huh,” said Eggsy raising his glass in a mock toast. “Fancy seeing you ‘ere.”

“There’s a bomb set to go off in three minutes,” Rider murmured without fanfare. “It should only kill those who are closest to that vase over there, but they’ll be looking especially hard at anyone new to their circle in the aftermath. You might want to make yourself scarce.”

Eggsy’s brows raised. “You havin’ me on?”

“Nope. Wasn’t me, but considering what I’ve learned about these people I can’t say I disagree with the intention,” Rider said. “Apparently one of the people kidnapped was the daughter of a Brazilian telecommunications magnate, and he’s not just cut-throat when it comes to business.”

“No shit,” Eggsy agreed. He stretched lazily, and began to mosey towards the door.

“Thanks for the tip Rider, you the guv’na. I’ll catch you later for that pint, yeah?”

Rider just nodded, and responded, "Call me Alex," before vanishing with his tray through a side-door.

Eggsy however could feel his eyes as he wandered towards the door, spilling his drink on the back of a man who would be more useful alive than dead to get him to follow him out before the bomb went off.

Kid had done him a solid. Eggsy would do what he could to repay the debt. 


	3. Chapter 3

“I’ve got to ask. What’s with the suit? It made sense at the party, and it almost made sense when you were sneaking around the base, but here? In the rainforest?”

Eggsy wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of one hand, ignoring the shade of Harry Hart whispering to him that it was bad manners as he crouched with Alex on a hill, the two of them taking turns to watch for the people hunting for Alex through Eggsy’s sniper scope.

“Well it’s bulletproof, innit.” Eggsy explained. “Prolly wouldn’t get me in one of these elsewise, as much fun as it is sometimes to look a proper toff and then get that doubletake when the bloke in the sharp suit’s got an accent like mine.” He fanned himself with a broad leaf. “Shame the Kevlar blend don’t breathe so good though.”

“Eggsy,” Alex said in a serious voice, “you’re lucky I like you, otherwise I would be tempted to knock you out and steal your suit. Damnit, why the hell can’t _I_ get one of those!” Eggsy was amused at how the kid was almost whining in jealousy, for once sounding his age.

“Awww you like me?” he teased.

Alex rolled his eyes and continued his rant as though Eggsy hadn’t spoken. “There’s no bloody excuse for it, and they _still_ make me fight to take a gun with me, which is ridiculously unfair- just because I’ve been acquiring weapons in the field since I was a kid is _not_ a reason to skimp on me.”

Eggsy had carefully not asked exactly how old Alex actually was at this moment. He had the feeling that Alex would neither appreciate his question, or Eggsy’s likely reaction. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Alex couldn’t handle himself- obviously the kid could, or he would be long dead if even a tenth of the things Merlin had dug up and Alex himself had referenced were true.

On the other hand, it just didn’t sit right with Eggsy for a fellow agent to be sent out into the field with fucking toys rather than things that would genuinely keep his skin in one piece. Especially when the agent in question should probably still be in a position to skip school.

“Tell you what, bruv. If we make it out of here past these drug dealers alive, I’ll take you in and get you outfitted at the Tailors’. Merlin will prolly be cool with it, but even if he wasn’t, I could leverage based on you saving my arse from that bomb last month. Small bomb my arse.”

Alex snorted. “Well I didn’t want you to panic. If I told you that the house was rigged to explode, would you have been as subtle in getting out of there?”

Eggsy scowled. “Hey, I have mad acting skills!”

Alex gave him a sidelong look.

“What? Oh come off it mate.” Eggsy abruptly changed his posture so that it was ramrod straight and looked down his nose imperiously at Alex. “I’ll have you know that I am more than capable of aping those of the upper crust,” he said in a near-perfect Oxbridge accent. He then relaxed, and continued, “but most of the time I can’t be fucked, yeah? Let them look down their noses at me all they want. They underestimate me at their own peril, you feel me?”

To his delight, Alex blinked, and then started to laugh silently.

Eggsy swiped the scope back off, him, and then elbowed Alex lightly in the ribs. “Look alive, bruv, we got incoming.”

Eggsy efficiently sniped six of the drug dealers, before the other two caught on as to where he and Alex were most likely hiding. He and Alex took that as a sign to start running, and made it to the rendezvous with the water-plane floating on the river with minutes to spare, and no fresh bullet holes in either of them.

If it hadn’t been for the fact that Alex had already managed to get shot in the arm with the bullet lodged near the bone a good day before Eggsy had <cough> _coincidentally_ <cough> happened to run across him (Smithers had been worried when Alex hadn’t checked in, and Merlin hadn’t even needed to ask Eggsy if he’d be willing to go check on the kid), and Eggsy would call that a flawless win.

“You alright there bruv?” Eggsy asked him once they’d both got the communication headgear with the sound-cancelling headphones on.

“Still alive,” replied Alex dryly.

Eggsy switched his channel so only the pilot, a handler called Nimue (who was apparently Merlin’s left-hand lady and entirely unflappable— Eggsy may or may not have had a bet about that with Roxy since he was under good authority he could drive a saint to exasperation) could hear him.

“The kid needs medical attention and yesterday. How long until we can get him to a decent doc?”

Nimue glanced over her shoulder, took one look at Alex’s grey face and then nodded firmly.

“Normally three hours, but for you Galahad I’ll make it two and a half.”

Eggsy smiled tightly. “Cheers, Nim.”

Unfortunately, no sooner had Alex been wheeled into surgery at the safehouse clinic, but Eggsy had to go. Apparently Lancelot had gotten herself into a right clusterfuck over in Rio di Janeiro, and needed a getaway driver.

“Keep an eye on him for me Nim,” said Eggsy, “and make sure he don’t scarper before he’s had a chance to recover.”

Naturally, three days and four car chases through the streets of Rio later, and Nimue called up Eggsy to tell him that Alex had apparently gotten bored and thus had somehow managed to not only vanish from the clinic, but had boarded a plane headed to Los Angeles.

“Bugger.” Eggsy wished he was surprised.

“I’m sorry Eggsy,” Nimue said, her voice slightly tinny over the poor connection. “I should have seen this coming. Merlin warned me that Rider is slippery as an eel.”

“Nah, not your fault, Nimue,” Eggsy consoled her. “’Salright. I’m sure we’ll cross paths sooner rather than later. Leastaways this time he called for backup.”

Nimue was silent over the airwaves.

Eggsy didn’t need her to draw him a picture. If Alex hadn’t made the call, then it was pretty blatant who must have— apparently Smithers was keeping especially close tabs on the kid since whatever the deal with his foster family was had fallen through.

“…Fuck. That brat’s going to make me go grey.”

“Now you know how Merlin feels.”

“Hey! I resemble that!”

Eggsy heard the distinctive sound of a hand slapping a forehead, and grinned.

Roxy owed him five quid.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deleted bit:  
> “‘E’ll be back.”  
> “…Was that pun intentional?”  
> “Wha? No!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy and Alex wake up in bed together, and then get the hell out of dodge.

Eggsy winced when he woke up.

His head felt like a small death metal band had taken up residence inside it, but he did his best to ignore it. At this moment, he couldn’t remember what he might have done to earn himself the hangover, but that was not important.

What mattered right this second was exactly how fucked he was, and whether he was going to have to call for backup.

Which might be a little difficult, because he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

So no Merlin in his ear.

No matter.

He had got himself out of shit before Merlin, he didn’t need to be babied.

He listened for a moment, and he thought he could hear the breathing of at least one other person in the room. That gave him pause.

As did the sensation of being tied to the bed by his wrists and ankles.

Oh. Right.

Now that he thought of it, his last clear memory was of drinking champagne at a function being run by a corrupt sheikh.

Fanfuckingtastic, Eggsy thought. Ah well. At least he was fully clothed.

And not tied to traintracks.

It was the little things that made the silver linings.

He carefully opened one eye, peering out through his lashes to see who he was sharing the room with.

He startled upon realising that the other person in his room was one Alex Rider, passed out cold next to him on the bed.

He stared at the other spy for a moment, being reminded once again just how _young_ Alex was. Poor kid was apparently just about to turn twenty, and the _shit_ he had been through…

Still, Eggsy thought, brightening, there were few more useful people he could have picked to be tied to a bed with.

“Alex!” he hissed. “Alex! Wake up!”

Alex moaned, shifted, tried to move, and then upon discovering that he was tied up suddenly shot 100% awake.

“Alex,” Eggsy repeated, getting his attention.

Alex turned his head and stared at him, eyes wide and feral, with an expression Eggsy recognised viscerally.

Not for the first time, he reminded himself to never back Alex into a corner. The kid usually avoided killing, but give him no way out and the only predictable thing about his reaction would be that he would pull out a plan that was flat out mad and then _pull it off_.

Eggsy grinned, hoping to defuse it before it started. “Fancy meetin’ you here,” he joked. “How’ve you been since South America?”

“Eggsy?” he said, “what..?” Alex looked like he was about to launch into some sort of tirade, when he spotted that Eggsy too, was tied down.

(It might have hurt Eggsy’s feelings just a bit, that initial instinctual suspicion, but Eggsy had picked up enough clues by reading Alex’s dossier to get why maybe he’d be a bit squirrely when it came to trust.)

Eggsy scowled. “Fucked if I know, but if you could do me a favour, I’ll have us out of here in a jiff.”

Alex took a deep breath, and Eggsy noted that he was doing some sort of breathing exercise to calm down.

Eggsy didn’t comment. If it worked, then it worked, and right now they had no time for panic attacks.

“What’s the favour?” Alex asked him.

“Right,” Eggsy said, shuffling a little closer to Alex on the bed. “They’ve tied my feet so I can’t click my heels-”

“What, so you can’t say, ‘there’s no place like home’ and get us out of here?” Alex quipped.

“Shut it you,” Eggsy smirked. “Nah, these ain’t no ruby slippers, but there’s a bit on the inside sole of me shoe that’ll activate a retractable knife when struck. If you lay your foot flat under mine, I should be able to engage it, and then use it to cut us free.” Eggsy paused. “It _is_ coated in a fast acting neurotoxin however, so be bloody careful not to move once I’ve got it out. I’d hate to accidentally scratch you with it.” Eggsy shuddered lightly. His memory of using that neurotoxin on that henchlady of Valentine’s with the killer prosthetics was _not_ pretty.

Alex’s brows raised.

“Right then,” he said, and then, with a little wriggling, managed to move his foot under Eggsy’s.

Sure enough, Eggsy was able to get the knife out, and he immediately twisted his foot so that he could saw at the bindings. (Fortunately, there was just enough slack, otherwise this might have been annoying.)

To his delight, it turned out that whatever idiot had tied them up had decided that it would be a good idea to use silken ropes, so it took only a matter of seconds before his feet were free.

“Now what?” asked Alex. “I mean, it’s great and all that you’ll be able to kick someone in the face, but…”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Eggsy teased. “Now watch how it’s done.”

And with that, Eggsy drew on his years of gymnastics-trained flexibility, and carefully lifted his feet until one was settled next to his ear for balance, and the other was being used to saw at the bindings on his hands.

“…I retract my previous scepticism,” stated Alex as Eggsy rolled to a seated position, and then made fast work of Alex’s bonds with a few careful swipes of his foot before carefully lifting away the pieces of rope.

Alex sat up slowly, rubbing his wrists as Eggsy carefully pushed the knife back into his dress-shoe.

“Probably doesn’t need to be said, but be careful and don’t touch the ends of those ropes,” Eggsy instructed. “You seriously do not want any of that shit on you, not even a trace.”

Alex nodded seriously.

“So, what was your mission?” Eggsy asked almost conversationally as he did a quick inventory of his suit.

Alex, casing the room, unscrewed one of the bedknobs and then tore a wide strip off the sheet.

“One of the guests wanted to put Krokodil into a shipment of dates meant for a snack company that makes mueslibars and whatnot,” Alex explained, as he made a primitive cosh from the bedknob and ripped material. “You?”

“Corrupt sheikh involved in…fuck. People trafficking. Same operation that got blown up back in France that time that you so kindly walked me out of.” Eggsy shook his head in annoyance. “Sorry, looks like this is my mission spilling over into yours.”

Alex shrugged in a ‘what can you do?’ sort of way, and started making a second cosh.

Eggsy meanwhile, was unsurprised to find that his guns and knives had been confiscated.

On the other hand, they had left him his signet ring, the garrotte that was stitched into the hem of his jacket, and...

Eggsy smirked at his final find.

“So,” Alex said, watching his expression with an unreadable one of his own. “I take it you have a plan to get us out of here.”

“‘Plan’ is probably a rather strong descriptor for what I’ve got,” Eggsy admitted, “but have I ever shown you one of these before?” he asked, holding up the golden lighter.

Alex raised an eyebrow. “I take it the plan isn’t to set things on fire?”

Eggsy bared his teeth in a grin.

“Whilst that may happen in the course of things, this ain’t no lighter,” he bragged.

It was then that they heard a noise at the door.

The distinct sound of a bolt sliding.

As one, they stepped behind the door, and waited, ready to spring into action.

A woman wearing what looked to be some sort of bland grey uniform stepped in, and was visibly shocked at the empty bed.

Eggsy grabbed her by the arm, and put a hand over her mouth, whilst Alex checked the corridor.

 He indicated that the coast was clear.

“Now don’t scream, you understand?” Eggsy said to the woman.

She nodded, eyes wide with fear.

“Right, so-“ Eggsy removed his hand from her mouth, and she promptly screamed her head off.

Alex knocked her out with one blow to the base of her skull.

“Shit,” Eggsy said. “Okay then, Plan B.”

They checked the woman and figured out that she must be some sort of nurse, based on the syringes of some sort of medication that she carried on her. Alex palmed one, as Eggsy ascertained that she wasn’t carrying anything else useful.

They started jogging silently down the corridor, faces grim as they saw the number of doors with bolts on them.

“Right,” murmured Eggsy, “here’s the plan. We get the fuck out of here, subtly if possible, brutally if not. We find a vehicle of some kind, then we make for the nearest Kingsman safehouse, then we call in enough reinforcements to get the prisoners out and then blow these wankers to kingdom come.”

Alex nodded grimly. “Works for me.”

And then they turned a corner, and nearly ran into three grunts who were apparently investigating the nurse’s scream.

Alex caught the one nearest him on the temple with one of his coshes, whilst Eggsy used the wall as a springboard to drop an elbow on a second one’s head.

The third guard turned to run and no doubt sound the alarm, but Alex beaned him on the back of the head with his cosh, which slowed him just long enough for Alex to stab him in the neck with the syringe, dropping him with whatever concoction had been in there.

He looked back, to see Eggsy tying the other two together with the sleeves of their shirts, and going through their pockets.

Eggsy threw him a keycard.

“This should get you out of the building if we end up splitting up,” he said, crowing in delight as he then found what he really wanted- one of them (an officer of some kind, he assumed,) had a loaded gun, whilst the other had a taser.

He called dibs on the gun, and chucked Alex the taser, wanting to chuckle at the face Alex pulled at having a non-lethal weapon.

“It’s nothing personal,” Eggsy said, “I know you can shoot, but first in best dressed, yeah? You can have the next one,” he said consolingly.

Eight minutes later he was regretting that statement when Alex lifted a _very_ nice glock from a guard Eggsy tased from behind with his signet ring.

They carefully sidled out of the building, and Eggsy spotted a likely option for their ride.

Alex followed his eyes, and nodded.

“Same as Scotland? I’ll keep them off you whilst you hotwire it?”

Eggsy nodded, and pulled his lighter out. “Use this for a distraction,” he said.

“What’s it do?”

Eggsy grinned. “Grenade.”

To his surprise, Alex grinned right back. “Your Merlin really does give you the best toys.”

“Oh bruv, you got no idea. Speaking of,” he shrugged out of his jacket. “If you’re playing distraction, you want to be a bit more bullet proof. Nope, don’t even start,” he said, as Alex opened his mouth to argue. “You’ll be drawing off bullets from me, so this is the least I can give you.”

“Fine.”

It took Eggsy only a few seconds to show Alex how to work the lighter, and then he was sprinting, ducked low, towards the car.

Moments later, and he heard the “Boom” that meant Alex had set the lighter off. By the way alarms were sounding, Eggsy thought Alex must have chucked the thing back into the building.

He ducked low, using the car to hide himself from the sightlines of the goons running back towards the building.

The car door was unlocked, and even better, some idiot had left the keys in the ignition. He turned and saw Alex running flat-out towards him.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only person who saw.

Eggsy shot the woman who had Alex in her gunsights, and her partner who had been distracted by the commotion of the grenade. Then he jumped into the car, and started it.

Alex practically dove into the passenger seat, and Eggsy threw the car into gear and slammed the accelerator on.

Everything would have been fine if it hadn’t been for the sniper who managed to get a shot off through the back windscreen and lodge a bullet in Eggsy’s left forearm.

“FUCK!” Eggsy swore, driving one handed. “Alex, be a mate and stop my arm from pissing blood, yeah?” he gritted out.

Alex wadded up the sheet material he’d used as a cosh and shoved it against the bleeding wound hard. Eggsy swore a blue streak, but kept driving as Alex tied the makeshift bandage tightly.

“Oh yes, _I’m_  the one that needs to be bullet proof,” Alex snarked.

“Shut it.” Eggsy rolled his eyes. “I’d say let’s switch, but we don’t have time to pull over,” he added, glancing at the rear-vision mirror but only seeing dust from the dirt road they were on kicking up behind them.

“Any idea where we are?” Alex asked.

Eggsy shook his head grimly. “Not a clue. You?”

Alex pulled his shoe off, and pressed something.

“What was that?” Eggsy asked.

“Panic button,” Alex said. “Fingerprint activated.” He leaned around and shot out the front tire of a motorbike attempting to follow them. “Depending on how far we are from Tehran, we might get back-up within fifteen minutes, best case scenario.”

Eggsy swerved to avoid a giant pothole, and pushed on the accelerator harder.

“Worst case scenario?” he asked.

Alex shot three more times, and then pulled Eggsy’s stolen gun out of his belt. “Just keep working on getting us the hell out of here,” he grimaced.

As it turned out, they got lucky.

On the one hand, they weren’t in Iran anymore.

On the other hand, they managed to stumble across a UN Peacekeeping Force on a reconnoitring mission, and the soldiers did not take kindly to being shot at by the goons chasing Eggsy and Alex.

They gave Alex access to a radio, and Eggsy access to medical attention.

Alex spoke to someone, using words that were obviously in code, before he snapped and demanded an extraction, ASAP, for him and his comrade, and goddamnit if they didn’t move their arses then he was going to have their fucking jobs because this was about national security.

It turned out that he wasn’t even lying, as at some point Alex had neglected to mention the nuclear weapons he had found before he had been captured.

(Eggsy was unimpressed, and told him that if he neglected to tell him things like that ever again, then next time he would leave him tied to the bed. Both of them ignored the rather odd looks they got from the UN soldiers at that little exchange.)

Soon it was just a waiting game, stretched out in a small patch of shade under a tarp, waiting for the helicopter Alex had managed somehow to commandeer.

“You know, you still haven’t visited the shop to pick up your suit I promised you,” Eggsy mused, taking a sip of water from a borrowed canteen.

Alex yawned. “Fine. If you insist.”

Neither of them commented on the fact that if Alex had had a suit of his own, Eggsy would not have been injured.

It took another two and a half hours, but the helicopter finally showed up.

The two of them piled in, and they had barely sat down before it was up in the air again.

Eggsy was startled to see that the pilot was Roxy.

“Ro-Lancelot!” he quickly corrected. “What are you doin’ ‘ere?” he asked the second his headphones were on.

Roxy shot him a look.

“Making sure you get your arse home in one piece for Daisy’s birthday tomorrow. Or did you forget?”

Eggsy swore.

“Daisy?” Alex wondered.

“My baby sister,” Eggsy explained. “Thanks Rox. I know I said remind me, but this is going a bit above and beyond.”

“Hardly,” Roxy said. “Who do you think it was your Mum called last time you missed a family thing? It sure as hell wasn’t Merlin.” She shook her head. “Your Mum delivers an extremely impressive guilt-trip. She could train candidates in the psych courses.”

Eggsy snorted. “Why do you think I quit the Marines?” he asked rhetorically. He shook his head, and changed the subject. “Rox, you met Alex yet? Alex, this is Roxy Morton, codename Lancelot. Rox, this is Alex Rider.”

“That kid from MI6 you were telling me about?” Roxy queried. She glanced over her shoulder to look at the exhausted-looking blonde who under the grime and stress looked as though he should still be at university or something. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she said.

Alex mumbled something polite in reply, before asking, “So, if you’re Lancelot, and Eggsy is Galahad, and Merlin is well, Merlin…” he grinned. “Could you have picked more ostentatious code names? Knights of the Round Table. Really?”

Eggsy’s answering grin was a little rueful. “Not my pick. If I’da got a pick then I wouldna picked the Pure guy now would I? But the position…opened,” Eggsy lost his grin at that. Harry’s death still was still a raw hurt, rather than a scabbed over wound like his dad’s, and forced himself to continue.

“Speaking of…” Roxy said, interrupting his thoughts. She pressed a button, and Eggsy heard the click in his headphones that said she’d flipped them to a private channel. “There’s another position open.”

Eggsy’s head whipped around as he caught her tone. “You’re taking the piss. Who?”

“Agravaine.” She shook her head. “Didn’t get away from his own explosion fast enough.”

“Shit,” said Eggsy. From what little interaction he had had with the pyromaniac agent that sounded about right. He said as much, and Roxy agreed.

“Merlin wants us to propose candidates,” she said. She rolled her eyes at him. “Though I imagine you at least won’t have a hard time coming up with a name.”

“Huh,” said Eggsy, and then turned around to look at Alex.

He flipped the switch to put himself back on the common channel.

“What?” demanded Alex warily, looking at him with suspicion.

“Just working out a schedule to get you measured up for that suit,” Eggsy said breezily.

Alex did not look reassured, a crease appearing between his eyebrows.

 Eggsy grinned. “You’re due some leave after this mission, yeah?”

Alex nodded slowly and unenthusiastically. “What of it?”

“Want to embark on the most dangerous job interview you’ll ever have?” Eggsy asked him.

Alex blinked. Then tilted his head in consideration.

“I’ll think about it,” he stated, “but I suppose it’s not like I’ve got much to lose.”

Roxy laughed at that response. “Oh god, he really _is_ your candidate,” she said, shaking her head. She had got the story out of Eggsy a while back when they had been getting drunk after a particularly rough mission.

Eggsy grinned. “Don’t put in anyone whose feelings you’re worried about. Alex here will wipe the fucking floor with them, if he decides he’s interested.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” drawled Alex, but Roxy didn’t miss the subtle tone of agreement.

Interesting, she thought.

And decided that this time, her candidate would be her cousin Monty.

The idiot could do with being taken down a few pegs.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-game chat between Eggsy and Alex.

It had been almost a full week since Roxy had recovered them from the desert, and Eggsy was pacing.

He had exchanged mobile phone contact details with Alex, (and once he’d done it he couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t before,) and arranged to meet him here, in front of a pub six blocks from the tailor shop in Saville Row.

Eggsy was dressed down in his favourite chav clothes, brightly coloured hoody and winged runners and all. He was also wearing his glasses, because he was waiting for a call from Merlin with details of an infiltration mission that he’d be doing soon. The ironic thing was that even though Eggsy had spent quite a bit of time learning manners and various affectations that the so-called “gentlemen” of Kingsman put such stock in, he was now often called on for his “native knowledge” of how to act like he _hadn’t_ been born with a silver spoon suppository.

(He might have been offended by it if he hadn’t watched some unintentionally but frankly hilarious footage of Pellinore trying to talk to a group of nouveau riche businessmen at a party in Florida. To say that he had failed to get the intel would be to neglect to mention just how completely bamboozled he had been by the group of Silicon Valley CEOs, who had almost immediately sensed his faint classist condescension and then proceeded to (as Eggsy’s mate Jamal would have said,) troll him and troll him hard.)

“Eggsy.”

Eggsy looked up, and grinned when he saw Alex strolling towards him, wearing an ensemble of jeans and a faded button-down shirt that was a little less eye-catching than Eggsy’s but nonetheless made him look exactly like what he was: a government-schooled kid who had grown up in a medium-sized house in a quiet suburb. A close observer might note the calluses and scars and martial artist balance, but with Alex affecting a slouch and a bright but shy smile, it was easy to miss these.

He looked nothing like as rough as Eggsy did when he wasn’t donning his fresh polish, but still very much not one of the equestrian, Latin and Oxbridge types that Kingsman was already full of.

“They’re going to underestimate you, and it’s going to be fucking hilarious,” Eggsy declared, walking up and throwing an arm over Alex’s shoulders.

Alex’s affected smile morphed into a quietly self-confident smirk.

“If they’re anything like how you described, then I am almost certainly going to rub most of them up the wrong way,” Alex admitted. “I don’t have much patience for people who aren’t flexible.”

Eggsy grinned. “Some of them might be alright— after all, me and Rox are best mates, and we met through the Lancelot candidate selections – but as you well know, making assumptions is a terrible habit for a spy to get into.”

Alex nodded solemnly. “Almost worse for getting into trouble than being given bad intel.”

“Amen to that,” Eggsy agreed, indicating with a jerk of his head for Alex to follow him into the pub.

“What’s your poison?” he asked once they were inside the darkened interior.

Alex shrugged with one shoulder. “I don’t often drink,” he replied without elaborating.

Eggsy inclined his head in acknowledgement and didn’t ask. The tone was enough to tell him that it was not something that Alex especially wanted to talk about.

“Cuppa tea suit you then?”

Alex nodded. “Lady Grey, if they have it. English Breakfast if they don’t.”

Fortunately, the pub _did_ have Lady Grey, so Eggsy procured cups for the two of them. They found a quiet corner, where they could watch the exits and the street traffic without being easily observed.

“So,” Eggsy said after they had been sitting in comfortable silence for a while. “There may or may not be a betting pool concerning the candidates, and who is going to last the longest.”

Alex raised an eyebrow.

“From what you’ve told me about the Kingsmen, I’m guessing that the winner does not collect simply bragging rights,” Alex surmised.

Eggsy grinned. “You’d be right about that.” He took a sip of his tea, grimaced, and added three sugars to it whilst Alex watched, bemused.

“So why exactly are you telling me this?” Alex asked him. “You don’t want me to throw the results, do you.” His tone suggested that that had better not be the case.

Eggsy was quick to reassure him. “Oh no bruv, none of that. I just wanted you to know that when you win, you get a cut. Call it extra incentive.”

“Extra incentive over being fitted out with a bullet-proof bespoke suit and getting more freedom to make judgement calls?” Alex sounded unimpressed, but Eggsy was pleased to hear his priorities put bluntly like that.

“Don’t forget the part where you’ll be set to earn at least triple of what they pay you at MI6, and,” Eggsy puffed out his chest, in blatant self-mockery, “you’ll be regularly working with yours truly.”

Alex snorted. “I thought you were trying to give me incentive.” The light twitch of his lips though betrayed that he wasn’t being serious.

Eggsy laughed. “Ouch, bruv. Well either way, you’re my candidate, and you are going to earn me a small fortune in the sweepstakes when you blow away all the opposition, so I’m going to be nice and give you one reason to keep in mind why you _do_ want to join Kingsman.”

Alex looked Eggsy calmly in the eyes, his attention complete.

“If it is even remotely avoidable, Kingsman never sacrifices the innocent,” Eggsy said seriously. “That’s our Rule 1. I want you to remember that.”

Alex took a thoughtful sip of his tea. He was sure that Eggsy was being truthful – so far Eggsy had made a point of being nothing but honest and straightforward in their dealings, which was why Alex liked him and even to a point trusted him – but something about Eggsy’s expression told him that he was being given a hint.

He filed the cryptic comment away for now. If it was a hint, it would become clear later.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he responded mildly.

Eggsy beamed, subtle as his dress-sense. “You do that. Now,” he said, downing the rest of his tea. “You ready to kick some posh arse?”

Alex’s responding smile was distinctly predatory.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex's POV

The very first time that Alex had encountered Eggsy, the older man had left a bit of an impression.

A man dressed in a very nice bespoke suit, who spoke like he’d grown up in the London council estate, and who left him with the business card from, of all things, a Saville Row tailor shop.  

“Shit, chill out bruv, I’m not one of the bad guys,” had been the first thing Eggsy had said to him, and the odd juxtaposition of how he looked and how he spoke had been enough to… not so much startle Alex, but more give him reason to pause. Reason to pause and wait for the dichotomy that was this man who moved like a predator, but who backed off Alex as though because of some imperceptible signal, who introduced himself with a ridiculous “spy name” from Arthurian myth but then asked Alex to call him by a silly nickname instead, to start making sense.

And then Eggsy, instead of making sense, had continued to surprise him. First by arguing for transparency with his handler – a trait that Alex had rarely, if ever come across in his counterparts in intelligence work unless he literally had a gun to their faces. Then by the “Merlin” (and what was _with_ the Round Table theme? It was Herod Sayle-level pretentious) on the other end of Eggsy’s comms telling Eggsy to tell Alex that he knew Smithers.

That information was not enough for Alex to let go of his suspicion towards these “Kingsmen” (of course they called themselves that), but it was enough for him to think that maybe, just maybe, they were people that he would be able to work with.

The fact that Eggsy then _commiserated_ with him about the unique problems of dealing with megalomaniacs, and reacted with sympathy rather than any measure of disbelief when Alex explained the _Feathered Serpent_ episode had made Alex, despite years of experience warning him that he knew better, tentatively hopeful that maybe, just maybe, he had met someone who actually _understood_ what it was like to have to deal with shit that sure, made a good and entertaining story, but in reality, just resulted in PTSD flashbacks that seemed like they deserved an epic score written by Hans Zimmerman or Ramin Djawadi. Some Hollywood box office composer’s work behind graphic, ridiculously violent scenes that had woken him up screaming more than once when they had played behind his eyelids in full technicolour.

(Alex had eventually managed to find a discreet therapist, who both helped him work through his issues, and who did _not_ think he was delusional. It had taken him three tries before Smithers had figured out the problem and put him in touch with Doctor F. Roy Dean Schlippe, whose odd insistence on conducting interviews via Skype only was more than made up for by the complete unflappable acceptance and no-nonsense advice that left Alex feeling decidedly more functional after his sessions. Alex had no idea who Doctor Schlippe might really be (the pseudonym was rather obvious really,) but he had no doubt whatsoever that the good doctor had seen some _shit_.)

The moment that Alex decided that he might genuinely come to _like_ Eggsy was when he realised that Eggsy was actually legitimately _insane_.

“What say you we work together to get this shit plugged in for Merlin and then we fuck off for a pint,” the man had said, looking downright _gleeful_ at the prospect of infiltrating a hostile base full of well-paid mercenaries with Alex, someone he had only just met, who had made a legitimate attempt at caving in his larynx not five minutes previous.

It was then that Alex realised that Eggsy, based on some unknown criteria (maybe based in part on whatever it was that his handler Merlin was telling him, but from the way Eggsy had argued with him, Alex had his doubts about that,) had decided that he trusted Alex at his back.

Alex could not actually remember the last time he had worked with someone who seemed to genuinely trust him to have their backs. Even Ben had been more concerned about the child that Alex was than the agent that he was becoming, and Alex actually _liked_ the other MI6 agent (which was more than he could say for most people he had worked with over the years).

But Eggsy, based on some esoteric mix of logic and gut instinct that Alex was hesitant to believe in, let alone attempt to follow, had been not only willing to work with Alex, he had trusted him to have his back.

He had not even blinked when Alex had gained a gun, simply congratulating him on his “fucking ace shooting” before proceeding to display some _exemplary_ skills at grand theft auto. (Alex was generally not one to stereotype, but to him this provided some indication that Eggsy’s accent was probably authentic, as opposed to put on as some sort of odd distraction technique.)

From this experience, and the ones that followed afterwards, Alex had little doubt that a serious, no-holds-barred fight between himself and Eggsy would probably end in a Pyrrhic fashion. The winner would not so much walk, as limp or crawl away, as Alex could recognise someone who understood about fighting for his life, and fuck Queensbury rules. Eggsy might dress like James Bond in hipster glasses, but like the man in Ian Fleming’s stories, he was not afraid to maim or kill if necessary to survive to achieve his goals.

But the more he got to know Eggsy, the more Alex realised that it would never come to that, because for whatever reason, Eggsy had decided that Alex was… his contemporary? His comrade? His friend?

Someone that he trusted to have at his back, and someone that he would not hesitate to help in a time of need. Alex had called Eggsy to the clusterfuck in Colombia mostly out of desperation, and Eggsy had come, no questions asked. When the two of them had wound up in the power of the people smuggling ring in the middle of Wahiba Sands, Eggsy had not hesitated to give Alex his bullet-proof jacket.

Eggsy trusted Alex, respected Alex’s skills, didn’t hesitate to protect him, and actually had the ability to follow through and do so. It was a combination of behaviours that Alex had only ever somewhat encountered before in Smithers, and even he had been limited by the nature of his employers.

Limits like that didn’t seem to apply to Eggsy, and although Alex did not quite believe the idea that it was _entirely_ due to the freelance qualities of the Kingsman agency, this certainly played a role.

Being exposed to Nimue, the handler, and Roxy “Lancelot” Morton had also helped cement this supposition, since both of them seemed to accept Eggsy vouching for Alex without question, were friendly, and yet produced effortless vibes of deadly intelligent efficiency that Alex would feel privileged to have on his side. Meeting the two ladies had certainly not hurt Alex’s impression of Kingsman being a potentially good place to work in the slightest.

But he had felt the same way about Scorpia.

So when Alex accepted Eggsy’s offer to audition for the position of Agravaine, he did so with little outward hesitation, but the moment he had both privacy and a secure line, he had called Smithers.

“There’s an opening at the Round Table, and Eggsy wants me for his Candidate,” Alex had said without greeting.

“Take him up on it,” Smithers responded immediately.

Alex blinked.

“Really?” he paused, trying to put into words what he was feeling. “I thought that you would tell me to avoid joining another extra-legal paramilitary organisation.”

Smithers sighed over the phone, but Alex was familiar with that being his usual reaction to not-so veiled references to Alex’s time with Scorpia.

“The difference,” Smithers explained, “is that Kingsman only take on missions that will directly benefit security. They aren’t mercenaries, they’re more self-funded militia. They don’t accept payment from outsiders, except in favours, as their funds come from the combined independent wealth of a number of old-moneyed families, and with their insider knowledge of global security issues, they have a tendency of making a killing on the stockmarket even before they sell the patents of some of their more outdated gear to friendly militaries and other agencies. And since the old guard got cleared out in the Valentine Incident, Merlin and the new Arthur have run a tight ship. Frankly my boy, we both know you’ve worked for a lot worse, and from what I know of the new management, you would have a hard time finding better.”

The unexpected endorsement from Smithers was in the end what pushed Alex from considering Eggsy’s offer to deciding to take the plunge.

(And if worst came to worst, Alex at least had experience in extracting himself from the employment of nefarious organisations, and this time, he was older, wiser, and knew what to watch for.)

And so, a week after the dramatic escape into the desert, Alex met Eggsy at a quite pub in an upmarket part of London.

“They’re going to underestimate you, and it’s going to be fucking hilarious,” Eggsy told him.

Well when he put it that way…

Alex had been underestimated before.

(Training with the SAS immediately came to mind, as did oh, almost all of his missions. Even when rumours about there being a child agent started to spread, somehow no one expected him to be so good at what he did.)

Maybe this time, with only a job opportunity on the line, Alex would have a better opportunity to appreciate the funny side when he showed people _exactly_ how much of an error underestimating him was.

(The winnings from the bet that Eggsy said he could have a cut of would only sweeten the deal.)

As the two of them left the pub, Alex walked silently beside Eggsy, thinking.

“Oh, one other thing,” Eggsy said, just before they entered the shop.

Alex raised an eyebrow.

Eggsy scratched the back of his head. “The only two who know that you’re Alex Rider are Roxy, (you know Rox, you met her last week,) and Merlin. As far as everyone else is concerned, you’re Alex Hart. “ Alex opened his mouth to comment, but Eggsy held up a finger to pause him as he barrelled on. “Two reasons for that- the first is that I got no interest in givin’ the game away too early since some of the other candidates got the right connections to have maybe heard rumour of you. The second is that this way, they’re all going to think I picked you out of some sort of sense of sentiment. Harry Hart,” Alex noted how Eggsy’s eyes darkened and voice thickened very slightly at the name, “was my sponsor, and the previous Galahad, before he was killed in action only a few hours before the Valentine Massacre.”

From the way he spoke, Alex did not have to ask if the two of them had been close. At the very least it was clear that Eggsy was still mourning the loss of his mentor.

(In this post-Valentine’s Day world, there were few who didn’t have someone to mourn, and fewer still who had been unaffected by the involuntary violence that had swept the world in two short minutes-long bursts. Alex thanked his lucky stars that his minutes of mindless violence had occurred at 2AM in a Solomon Islands solitary gaol cell. As much as it had been a major pain breaking out of said cell in the aftermath (since there were no guards left to remember that he was there, and the other prisoners had not been well-disposed towards the British spy in their midst) at least Alex could say that he had only killed people deliberately.)

“What relation would I be to Harry?” Alex asked, pretending to ignore the slightly glossy sheen in Eggsy’s eyes.

“Nephew, we decided. Most of the other candidates are legacy, so it’s an easy way to get you in under the radar. Besides,” Eggsy’s smile was a little sharp-edged, “figured it might be a nice novelty for you to have a cover that’s basically true, what with the dead spy uncle and all.”

“Yes, because I have had such opportunity to talk about Uncle Ian’s work in the past,” Alex snarked.

(Alex was unbothered by this revelation that Eggsy had apparently managed to do a thorough enough background check to find this out. After all, he knew for a fact that Merlin and Smithers were apparently in contact, and Smithers knew more of his backstory than almost anyone else alive.)

Eggsy shrugged, unrepentant.

“Come on mate,” he made a general gesture to the door of the tailor shop. “Let’s do this.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex meets the other Agravaine candidates.

 

Mostly on purpose, Eggsy had ensured that Alex was going to be late for Merlin’s orientation speech.

Part of this was simply because he was intentionally copying the experience that Harry Hart had arranged for him.

Part of this was the fact that he had spent a little longer talking to Alex at the pub than he had originally intended.

Either way, Eggsy was thoroughly entertained by Alex’s reactions to the Kingsman setup.

“How far down does this thing go?” Alex demanded somewhat incredulously as the Changeroom 4 lift took them down.

Eggsy laughed. “I asked the same thing. Don’t worry, we’re just… about…” the lift lowered enough for the deep underground chamber to become visible, “there we go.”

Quickly, he ushered Alex into the shuttle.

“Okay, tell me something honestly,” Alex said, as they both sat down on the tartan armchairs and the shuttle began to move.

“What?” Eggsy noted some strain in Alex’s features, and was instantly cautious as to what that could mean.

“Is Kingsman actually CONTROL?” Alex demanded, and from his disbelieving expression Eggsy could tell that he was only half-joking.

Eggsy snickered. “Do I sound like a Yank to you? Maxwell Smart I am not. And unless you missed it, we don’t tend to give our agents numbers as code names, but now that you mention it…” Eggsy grinned. “We _do_ have an American base in Washington D.C… and if you ask me, our most capable agent is the lady, so…”

Alex face-palmed.

“I’ve figured it out,” he complained into his hand. “My life is a bad movie, probably directed by Peter Segal.”

Eggsy started outright laughing. “Better Peter Segal than Geoffrey Sax.”

Alex snorted. “Point.”

They sat in companionable silence for a short while, listening to the whistle as the shuttle rocketed through the underground tunnel.

Fortunately, it had been built along the lines of a bullet train, so the trip was extremely quick.

“Well look on the bright side,” Eggsy said as the shuttle rolled to a stop.

“What’s that?” Alex asked.

Eggsy motioned towards the large semi-circular window, and watched as Alex’s eyes widened at the sight of the hangar full of hundreds of vehicles- planes, cars and boats.

Alex turned to Eggsy, and Eggsy grinned, slapping him on the back. “If we’re in a bad movie, at least it’s one where we get to play with all the cool gadgets and do all our own stunts, am I right?”

Alex smiled ruefully in response, and opened his mouth to respond, but then Eggsy checked his watch.

“Shit, we’re late.”

Eggsy quickly pulled Alex down the corridor, to see an impatient Merlin holding an electronic clipboard and tapping one foot.

“Honestly Galahad, is it truly necessary to emulate your predecessor in every way?” the tall man demanded, sending a glare through his thick-framed glasses.

Eggsy spread his hands in a placating gesture. “Aw come on Merlin, you know you love me.”

Merlin’s scowl deepened, but Alex could see a glint of exasperated humour in his eyes.

“You, get out of my sight.” Eggsy cheekily waved Alex goodbye, before sauntering back up the corridor. “You,” he said, nodding at Alex, “get in here.”

Alex entered the room to see a dorm room, with grey itchy-looking blankets on the beds, an open plan bathroom including a large mirror (almost certainly a two-way for observation, judging by how deep-set it was) along one wall, and (rather dramatically, he thought) what were clearly (to him) bodybags lying at the foot of each bed. In the centre of the room stood collection of people who looked to be a little older than him. Only one was female, and all of them stood with perfect military posture, in expensive brand-name clothing. All of them were Caucasian.

(Alex was starting to notice a certain trend.)

All looked up as Alex entered the room, all assessed him, and half immediately exhibited either incredulous or smug expressions.

(The other half, which included the female, hid their reactions behind well-cultivated poker faces. Alex noted who they were for future reference.)

Alex had immediate suspicions as to _why_ exactly Eggsy wanted to annoy the snot out of his colleagues by secretly entering a candidate who had real experience, but none of the obvious Oxbridge polish of these people.

(Not that that was the only reason, Alex felt sure he could assume, that Eggsy had decided to nominate him, but nonetheless, he had a pretty solid suspicion that it didn’t hurt.)

Before any of them could speak, Merlin stepped up behind him and commanded that they all fall in.

Alex had not acted as a soldier in the military sense since his training with the SAS, but old habits rushed back to push steel into his spine and a snap into his step as he moved to stand at ease.

Merlin welcomed them all to Kingsman, and gave a brief speech about how this was going to be the most dangerous job interview of their young lives.

(Alex barely suppressed a snort. Considering the fact that he had originally been more press-ganged and extorted than recruited into MI6, not to mention that one time he joined a deadly association of international assassins, he _highly_ doubted it.)

Merlin continued the obvious psychological tactics by holding up one of the body bags and asking if anyone knew what it was. Alex was amused to see the forest of hands going up around him to answer Merlin. That, more than anything else, clued him in that the vast majority of the candidates were still fairly fresh out of whatever sandstone and ivy college they had attended. He wondered idly how many of them might have been on the rowing squad. He would bet his life that a good half of them could fence.

It was almost endearingly archaic.

“In a moment,” Merlin said, clipped tones breaking through Alex’s musing, “you will each collect a body bag. You will write your name on that bag. You will write the details of your next of kin on that bag. This represents your acknowledgment of the risks you are about to face, as well as your agreement to strict confidentiality, which incidentally if you break, will result in you and your next of kin being in that bag. Is that understood?”

Alex cleared his throat.

“What, Hart?” Merlin demanded.

“A private word, sir?” Alex requested.

Merlin’s eyebrows raised, but he nodded sharply, before telling the other candidates to fall out.

They stepped outside the room, and Alex did not miss the fact that there was no chatter inside. He had little doubt that the candidates were all straining their ears to hear what he said to Merlin, so he deliberately spoke in a low murmur.

“With all due respect, sir, I have no next of kin,” Alex stated bluntly.

Merlin’s expression was stone-like and not a trace of pity appeared on it. Alex appreciated that.

“Is there anyone whom you would wish to be informed should you die?” he asked.

Alex smiled mirthlessly. “Frankly sir, the only person outside this organisation I would want notified is not in a position for you to threaten, and I suspect that he would figure it out within the week whether you officially told him or not,” he said, cryptically referencing Smithers in a way that he knew the man would recognise. The two of them had never spoken directly before, but nonetheless, each had experienced how Eggsy interacted with the other on the first mission in the megalomaniac’s bunker. Alex knew that he was understood by the bald man.

Merlin nodded once. “Very well. I shall have to trust to your sense of discretion then, but,” he nodded, and Alex was surprised to detect a hint of collegial respect, “I will not insult your intelligence by asking if you understand the need for said discretion.”

Alex nodded slowly. On the one hand, if he were to be indiscreet enough to spread the word about Kingsman, it would not be the first time he had upset an organisation of highly trained killers.

On the other hand, the last time he had done so, a lot of people, some of whom he had cared about, had died. Oh, and he had missed death by sniper by millimetres. Neither of these experiences were anything he felt especially motivated to repeat.

(He might have no one left in this world who was close to him,

“I would however like you to specifically document what funerary arrangements you would prefer, assuming that there are pieces of you left to bury.”

Alex shrugged. “Cremate me, scatter the ashes under a tree, no marker. I can put that in writing if you wish.”

Merlin nodded again, tapping the side of his glasses. “No need. I suggest you get to know your fellow candidates. The real tests will start tomorrow.”

Alex jerked his head in acknowledgement, and stepped back into the room, ignoring how almost everyone seemed to be looking in every direction except the door, and at least four people were pretending to be mid-conversation.

He strode over to the as-yet unclaimed bed on one end, and wrote his assumed name in blocky capitals on the body bag with the pen he found sitting helpfully on top.

 “Seriously?” his immediate neighbour spoke up in an accent as cultivated as his carefully gelled hair.

Alex capped the pen, turned to look the speaker in the eye, slowly and deliberately looked him up and down, and raised an eyebrow.

 “Did you have a question?” Alex asked him in a casually thickened version of his normal accent.

“ _You_ are related to _the_ Harry Hart? The previous Galahad?” his neighbour demanded, sounding a little incredulous as he read the unmistakeable _Alexander Hart_ that Alex had printed.

“Is there another?” Alex wondered, deliberately not directly answering the question.

“You don’t look a thing like him,” the speaker announced to the room at large.

Alex shrugged. He wouldn’t know. After all, he knew basically nothing about the man, except his name, the time of his death, and that Eggsy still mourned him.

“What are you, his secret lovechild?” asked one of the others, this one with red hair that might have been curly had it not been cropped so short.

Alex eyed the red-head a little bemusedly. “Hardly,” he responded. Apparently those expensive schools had not bothered to include tact or manners in the syllabus.

“Aren’t you going to fill out your next of kin?” Hair Gel asked him. “Or is your mother dead too?”

Alex snorted. Evidently Hair Gel had decided that the ‘secret lovechild’ guess was accurate, and he felt no particular need to disabuse him of this notion. After all, it provided a cover that Alex didn’t have to work to maintain, so why not?

Still, perhaps best to nip this in the bud in case someone with brains decided to come along and start poking holes in the ridiculous theory.

“Do you ask all new acquaintances deeply personal questions upon first meeting them, or am I just special?” Alex wondered aloud.

The red-head flushed, but Hair Gel was unperturbed. Alex was not sure which reaction was more to his liking.

The sole female candidate strolled over. “Excuse them, expensive public schools were apparently incapable of teaching them manners,” she said. “Lucy Larkspur. And you are?”

“Alex,” Alex replied.

Lucy nodded serenely. “Alex, this is Montgomery Morton,” she said, indicating Hair Gel, “and this is Jonas Highbridge,” she nodded to the red-head.

“Monty, please,” insisted Hair Gel in unctuous tones, as he offered a slightly sweaty palm for Alex to shake.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Alex snarked as he took the offered hand. “Any relation to Roxy Morton?” he continued idly.

Monty blinked as he retracted his hand from Alex’s slightly over-firm handshake.

“You know my cousin?” he asked, his tone disbelieving. “How?”

Alex bared his teeth in a grin.

(Jonas Highbridge remembered, suddenly, that when chimpanzees grinned, it was a threat display. There was something… unsettling… about this Alex Hart’s smile, and there was nothing friendly about it.)

“Oh, we have a friend in common,” Alex said airily, noting that whilst Lucy, Highbridge and a tall candidate with a few light acne scars whose name he later learned to be Henry Withers seemed to pick up immediately on the possible implications of that, Monty just looked confused.

(Alex wondered if Roxy had inherited all the brains in the family.)

Highbridge also wanted to shake hands, so Alex indulged him.

The others stepped forward then, and Alex was introduced to a Richard Rigby (“call me Rick”), a Ceallach O’Donovan (“Kelly is fine”), and a Tobias Llewellyn (“just don’t call me Toby and we’re good”).

(They would discover soon enough that it took very real effort for Alex to exhibit anything other than slightly hostile apathy to those who had not worked for his trust. No need to disillusion them yet.)

Alex noted the overall drastic change in attitude since “his” last name had been revealed. He was distinctly unimpressed by the implications, but took care to hide his disdain.

After all, he would have to live with some of these people for the next month. It wouldn’t do to alienate them.

Yet.

**Author's Note:**

> This may be a five and one fic. It depends on how long my interest in this goes.
> 
> Find me on tumblr: http://beka-tiddalik.tumblr.com/

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [But There's Three](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4208505) by [athletiger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/athletiger/pseuds/athletiger)




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